That first evening, when he took me to his home and forced himself on me, is a memory etched on my mind forever. Our eyes never met, and when he had finished, and was up and busy straightening things and preparing to drive me home, I sat, feeling shocked and exposed on the floor in silence. Even though my eyes were fixed on the wall in front of me, and my body totally still, inside a battle raged. My pastor had used the power of his office, scripture, his adult body, and his adult mental capacities to exert control over me, and my mind whirled as I sat on the floor of his den, and as he drove me home. Why didn’t I scream the moment he touched me, even if we were the only ones home? Why didn’t I cry? Why didn’t I tell him to stop, or on the ride home, tell him how yucky I felt? Why did I thank him for the ride home?
These are questions I have asked myself countless times, and as I have begun to tell my story, been asked often by others as well. For many years I felt condemned by the questions, let alone able to provide any answers, but in the process of coming forward, depositions and interviews have necessitated my being more and more able to put words to my silence and to the battle within my body, mind, and soul. As a child experiencing sexual abuse at the hands of someone I believed to have a lot of power, my sole concern in those moments was surviving moment by moment. What I have come to realize is that my split decision not to scream or run or call for help was less about whether or not anyone would hear me or help me,and more about what reality doing any of those things would have driven home to me. For me to have screamed or fought or run, I would have had to be fully present to the reality that someone was overpowering me, and had the power to hurt me and invade my body, and in that split second in my push for survival, that was not a reality I was willing to accept or acknowledge, as it meant that I was not in control. To tell him to stop, or simply that he was hurting me was to admit that to myself- that he had penetrating, wound inflicting power over my body, mind and soul.
The concept of God, whether or not you believe, represents an image of one who has total and supreme authority over another. Sexual abuse is, by definition, the abuse of one’s authority over another, and so, I believe that any survivor of sexual abuse has a view of God, or a “Godsong” that is tainted by their experience. When I began my search for healing in earnest, my head knew about the "Jesus loves me, this I know" God. I knew in my head that God had the power to heal, and that God represented hope for me in the face of my painful memories, and yet, my Godsong was dark and sung of a god drunk with power, at whose whim I lived my life, fearful and vulnerable. And so, as I have come to God with my head, asking for his healing touch, I have had to pause often, and ask Him to help my heart, which lives out of experience, to catch up.
I have been working for the last two years to have my abuser removed from his pastoral office. It has been terrifying, heart-wrenching, exposing, and yet also a time during which I have felt so much shame lift, have heard my own voice tell my story, and have experienced unspeakable, non-rational peace. I have presented my most aching memories in timelines and affidavits to perfect strangers while hearing in my voice, a steadiness and strength that is clearly not my own. I have experienced God’s comfort in so many ways, including friends that have, through the power of the Holy Spirit, been Jesus with skin-on to me. There have been ups and downs throughout the process, and over the holidays I experienced disappointment that I am still trying to make sense of. Part of my growth along this leg of the journey has been in learning to tell my story without depending on the reaction of the hearer, but as in most things, growth comes slowly, and is not necessarily linear. Just before Christmas, I gave a 45 minute, on camera interview, in which I spoke of the events of abuse in detail, the personal toll it has taken on my life and the life of my family, and the systems’ failure to bring justice. And then nothing went as I had expected!
In the days and weeks since the interview, I have had to notice some things in my response that are an invitation to hold my experience up against what I know to be true. I have not really been able to speak to others about my disappointment. In my prayer times since then, I find myself sitting, feeling shocked and exposed, with my eyes fixed, saying nothing at all. I know I should pray about how I'm feeling, but I don't, seeing no point in making my complaint known to Him, as He is God, and I am not, and so what’s the point anyway? If I tell God that I don’t like what is happening it serves only as a reminder that I am not in control, and who wants to remember that?
What I notice in my response to the interview disappointment, is that it is similar to my response to the abuse itself, and thus evidence that my sexual abuse experience is trumping God’s truth. I am responding to the disappointment as a victim trying to survive the moment rather than a survivor, empowered and set free. Unlike one who abuses his authority, God wants to and actually insists on being chosen. Though he is the Supreme Authority, he is also a perfect gentleman who invites and then waits expectantly for us to come, and then exerts his authority only for our ultimate good. So the question I need to ask myself is- what am I hearing in my Godsong that keeps me sitting, with my eyes fixed, silent before him?
At times like this, when I notice a verse in my Godsong that is yet to be healed, all I can do is pray, so here I go…
Lord, I’m in a place where my experience as a victim is trumping your truth. In my head, I know that you are loving, gracious, and completely trustworthy, and I ask that you wait with me, and help my heart to catch up. I know that I can only be present to your comfort if I’m present to my discomfort, and so I ask for your help in that as well. Please help me to wait well. In Jesus’ name. Amen
I invite you to respond with a comment, or question, or part of your own story.....
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3 comments:
Waiting, praying, listening, writing, and yes, giving voice; all are perceptible God movements even when it may seem you are frozen and paralyzed again at some level. Thanks for writing. You are genuine, honest and a woman of courage.
Story evokes story? Claiming God’s grace, I will try…
As I have been working through my own childhood trauma, I have noticed moments when the Truth that I have come to know so well, suddenly seems silent. As I allow myself to be present to the emotions and responses that run from unknown sources of my childhood, I often slip into an alternate path of thinking that doesn't remember that God is there. Today as I sat in that place I had a disturbing image that I would assume most people would be horrified by. I saw my head separate from my body, and, by mere thought-fueled by rage, my head tore into my body starting at the part of my body that holds my deepest shame and working its way out fully demolishing every piece. I tried very hard to control my rage but I found myself unsuccessful. The only thing in the end that calmed the storm was God’s word spoken over me, God’s presence around me and the weeping that followed.
You commented on falling back into a place where your abuse trumps Truth. I can understand that as I think all of us that are on the path of healing can. I often think that I have come this far, I shouldn't fall back like that but the reality is that this path is difficult regardless of how far we have come and how much we have grown, there are bumps along the way. How thankful I am that the God that is with me in the high places is also the God that is with me in the low places. Every piece of our journey makes up our story. Thank you for being willing to be so publically honest with yours.
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